Ride 'Em
by distaff.exile
Summary: Otherwise known as the Big Damn Crossover. Mainly Tin Man, Firefly, and House. DG gets a lot more than she bargained for out of her vacation in the Old West...
1. I

**Title** Ride 'Em (or Trail o'Hotness, or I Almost Named This "Save An Ox, Ride A Tin Man)  
**Author** Thorn "Lola" Goblinshimmer  
**Rating** R overall; this part PG-13 for innuendo Disclaimer I own nothing. Don't even have a licensed copy of the game.  
**Spoilers** All of Tin Man, House, Oregon Trail, and Firefly. Yes, really. Brief appearances by the Ninth Doctor in later chapters  
**Pairings** Az/Glitch, DG/Cain (in their respective dreams), Inara/Taub, Jayne/Thirteen, Mal/River, Zoe/Wash, Kaylee/Simon, and the most complicated love kite ever to exist: House/Wilson/Cuddy, Wilson/Amber, Amber/Chase, and Chase/Cameron. Yes, all at once.

I.

Independence, MO  
April 1, 1848

Five travelers disembark from a tornado. For some reason, nobody notices this. Just as well, since one of the women is wearing dungarees, one of the men has a zipper down the middle of his scalp, and one of them... has fur.

"DG," says the other woman, very fetching in deep green silk and black lace. "Shouldn't we get Glitch a hat?"

DG shakes her head, and every eye on the street is glued to her cascading black curls. "I have a better idea." She takes the fedora off the tall blond and plops it over the zipper. "See?"

The blond growls, but the lion-man takes his elbow. "DG mean well," he says. "Keep family safe. Cain not argue with that?"

Cain rolls his eyes. "No, Cain not argue. Princess crazy, but Dorothy forbid Cain argue."

"That's better!" says DG. "Come on, Az. I think I need a dress." She tugs her sister into Matt's General Store, leaving the three... men... at loose ends.

"Might as well hunt us down a wagon," Cain says. "And me another hat, 'cause I burn something fierce. Come on."

Like ducklings, the zipperhead and the lion-man toddle along behind. The good people of Independence are just stunned enough not to shoot.

* * *

Once said wagon has been acquired, they meet in the general store; DG puts Cain in charge of spending what little money they'd budgeted for their trip. "Somehow, I thought this would go further," she laments. "Well, you've done this before. At least, you look like you have."

"Never with animals," says Cain. "Uh. Matt, is it?"

The nearly-bald shopkeeper stops puffing on his pipe long enough to blow a ring of smoke in Cain's face. "That'd be me."

"Great." Cain rubs his hands together. "Hope you know about oxen and wagons, because we're about as green as sapling wood."

"No cheat," adds the lion-man. "Raw will know."

Just the thought of those claws sets Matt on edge. "No cheatin' here, no sir," he says. "Now, normally we recommend three yoke of two oxen each, but personally, four might last you longer."

"Makes sense," says Cain. "More oxen, more... backups. How much?"

Matt scribbles down a few numbers. "One-sixty. Fair?"

Cain looks at DG, who shrugs in a what's-an-ox? kind of way. "Fair, I suppose. How about trail rations?"

Unfortunately, the way the numbers crunch, there won't be enough cash left over for spare parts. "We should stick to three yoke of oxen," says Glitch. "Cut back on food, too. Can't we hunt along the trail?"

"Got a point there," says DG. "Between me and the Tin Man, I'm sure we can bring down a little game. Right?" She elbows Cain in the ribs. "C'mon. Two guns, plenty of ammo, we'll eat like royalty."

"No pun intended," Azkadellia mumbles. "I hope one of you can cook."

"I used to be a waitress," DG informs her sister. "Camp food shouldn't be too hard."

"Seven hundred pounds of food and three yoke of oxen should give us enough currency for the rest," says Glitch, who sounds a little different.

Matt wonders whether he's all there -- and, wisely, doesn't ask. "All right. You got a hunnert-twenty left. Make it count."

DG insists on fifty dollars' worth of ammunition ("I might miss!") and enough spare parts to cover their bad luck. This leaves ten dollars for clothing.

"Princess, you are not traveling naked," says Cain. "I want at least one set of spares for you and your sister."

"I'll trade this in." Az tugs on the lace at her throat. "It's completely impractical. We'll get blouses and skirts, one set each, and share. You are amenable to a little bargaining, Matt, aren't you?" She bats her day-long eyelashes at him, and he's lost.

Fifteen minutes later, the Crown Princess of the Outer Zone is wearing greenish-gray homespun and thoroughly enjoying it. DG won't part with her trousers, but she lets Cain buy her a shirt and an extra pair of pants, in case a different kind of storm catches them unawares. Glitch seems to like his jacket just fine, and Raw? Well, he's already wearing a coat.

Glitch and Cain adjust some of their provisions -- they won't actually finish seven hundred pounds of food, anyhow, and twenty boxes of bullets will do -- so there's still cash for emergencies along the trail. Since they've bought one set of men's clothing for DG, and it comes with a hat, Cain takes his old one back, giving the new one to Glitch. "No offense to your fine goods," he says to Matt. "You might say me and my hat go back a long way."

Matt chuckles. "Understood, sir," he says. "Best of luck. You'll need it."

* * *

They start out on April 2. DG insists on hunting. Using five bullets, she bags...

"A squirrel." She holds it up by the tail, disgusted. "Well, I can make a spare hat out of this. And -- hey, is there a meat grinder in the wagon?"

"Why?" asks Glitch.

DG grins, suddenly pleased with herself. "Who wants sausages for breakfast?"

* * *

On April 3, they take the wrong trail.

"This all your fault," Raw grumbles, taking the reins from Glitch. "Never let zipperhead navigate."

He's been reading the trail guide. Plenty of time for it, seeing as they're hopelessly lost.

DG tries to convince Cain to give her another go at the hunting thing, but he declines, taking the rifle out himself. He comes back with a hundred pounds of buffalo -- and the skin of another squirrel.

"No more sausages," he says. "Some meat just isn't worth it, Princess."

* * *

They reach the Kansas River crossing on April 13. There's a little inlet that's perfect for baths. Since Cain and Glitch both need their shirts washed, DG and Az kill two birds with one stone ("Is that like killing one squirrel with five bullets?" Glitch wonders) and go swimming in some of the most interesting gear this side of the Mississippi.

"Get hold of hormones," Raw insists, crossly, marching off to fetch the ladies out of a sudden squall.

That evening, Cain asks an old woman in the next wagon over for a cup of sugar. She clocks him with a ladle. "We could be stuck here for days! Gotta con-serve my rations."

He thinks of firelight, and pleasant evenings -- and being cooped up in the wagon with DG for a good half-week. The sooner the rain lets up, the better.

Before he has to face the question, their turn comes to cross. Since it's damn near midnight, Cain is not a fan of fording the river. "This old thing'll overturn."

"Bet me?" asks DG.

"No," he says. "Your mother would kill me with her bare hands. We're taking the ferry."

So they wait two more days and pay five precious dollars, but it's worth the expense, because nothing happens. Cain lets out the breath he's been holding the whole way across.

* * *

April 16. Wet again. Cain decides to chance it and head out hunting again.

"Maybe squirrel's not so bad," he admits over steaks that night.

* * *

April 22 -- the Big Blue River crossing. This one doesn't look so threatening. It's wider, but a bit shallower.

Glitch hears some advice about lame-footed oxen. Az, hearing him mutter over their leather collection, puts her own dainty foot down.

"We are not making ox booties," she declares. "Royal command."

She may or may not have the skins earmarked for a new corset, anyway.

They take their chances and ford the river. So much for those oxen; two drown in the middle. "I thought they could swim!" says DG. "Where's that shopkeeper? I want my money back."

Cain suspects she's more distressed over the loss of 130 bullets, and the thought of cutting back to barely a pound of food a day. "We've still got all the food, and 255 bullets besides," he tells her. "So we'll have some lean times. At least when you get back, the palace seamstresses won't hassle you about your waistline."

"Thank you very much," she snaps, elbowing him in the gut and walking away.


	2. II

Ride 'Em  
Thorn Goblinshimmer

II.

On April 25, Azkadellia wakes up with spots and a fever.

"Measles," says Raw. He's been reading that damn trail guide on the latrine, even. "Put to bed, feed better." So Az rides in the back with Glitch, who is no longer allowed to drive. Ever.

Cain kills a buffalo from the back of the wagon. "Ought to hold us for a bit," he says. DG shoots him one of those magical smiles; she might like buffalo, or she might have noticed he only used one bullet. Either way, he's back in her good books, right where he belongs.

Two days later, he takes back the reins; DG's been up nights with her sister, wearing herself to the bone in the process. "Little idiot," he mutters, but he's careful not to jar the wagon too much.

They don't stop to look at the grave by the side of the trail. Even Glitch believes in omens.

* * *

May 2. Five bullets, all the buffalo Raw can carry. "Full up," he says of himself. "Ate leftovers."

DG is actually homesick. She won't move from the back of the wagon for love or -- scratch that, Cain thinks. For anything.

Az isn't looking much better; she's a little queasy. "Can you not hang from the ceiling?" she asks Glitch, who -- let's be fair -- was only trying to cheer up the girls.

He climbs down regardless, settling next to Az. Nobody misses the arm he slips around her shoulders, or the flowers he's pinned to the opposite "wall".

The weather warms up a week later. Two little princesses get out of the wagon and walk. One of them takes to her bed the next day, claiming exhaustion. The other one snorts and hops onto Daisy the Ox's back. "Ride 'em, cowboy!"

"What's a cowboy?" asks Glitch, and Cain shakes his head.

* * *

"Where doctor when Raw need one?"

DG, Cain, and Glitch hover at the Viewer's bedside. He's supposed to be hale and hearty. What the hell is he doing with a fever?

"Maybe it's rabies," Az suggests without so much as a glance away from her knitting.

"That not funny," Raw croaks.

On top of all that, the wagon tongue cracks in two. DG tries to repair it, but she doesn't have the right tools, and wood is not exactly her fort? "I give up!" she screams at the vultures circling overhead. "Cain!"

"One replacement, coming right up." Glitch makes a good enough nurse; right now, Cain's place is right by DG's side, wearing a pair of squirrel-hide gloves. No sense in both of them getting splinters.

* * *

"Good enough" means Raw will wake to find himself shaved, as per the trail guide's instructions on fever.

"What you do to me?" he asks, and Glitch hides behind Az.

"Uh..."

* * *

After a month and a half of starvation, everyone but Cain votes to increase rations to three pounds each per day. He resolves to teach them all how to shoot, because at this point, they're going to need all the stray game they can get.

Of course, there's no hunting at Chimney Rock. All the more reason to be glad of the seventy-odd pounds of venison DG shot last week. He hates to admit it, but she's good. It isn't a male thing or even a pride thing. He's scared she'll take even more risks than she already has. "Your parents want you back in one piece," he says over something she calls a "squirrelburger".

"They don't need to worry about me," DG says. "Now, Alonzo there, if he doesn't shut up, he might find himself on the wrong end of my frying pan. 'We saw Chimney Rock from twenty miles out!' Who cares? And Auntie Rebecca Sims can kiss my denim-covered --"

"Princess," Cain says, dodging the pan in question. "They waited fifteen annuals to get you back. I don't want to tell them I lost you after six months."

Unspoken: he doesn't want to face it, either. But he keeps that part to himself.

* * *

May 18. "Glitch!" Cain shouts. "What did you do to this map?"

"...my paper glider fell in the mud?"

Five days later, when they rejoin the wagon train, Az has put some of those squirrel tails to good use. "Isn't he so cute this way?" she asks, stroking his hair. "I love a man in leather."

"Yeah, but hog-tied?" DG asks. "Doesn't that hurt?"

From under the gag, Glitch hoots his agreement.

"Shhh," says Az. "If you wiggle, the knots get tighter." She scratches his back lightly. "Just go to sleep. Mistress will let you out tomorrow if you're good."

* * *

And just in time for Fort Laramie, too.

Az is kind of sulky until she meets a Sioux brave out by the river. Cain slaps his forehead; knowing her, she's asking for advice on how to handle captives.

"I guess it wasn't all the witch," DG remarks. Cain would like very much to stay out of her world in her day and age, given how normal she finds Glitch's... predicament.

Is that a little whip sticking out of her back pocket?

* * *

They celebrate the first day of June with buffalo stew. Why they bothered is anyone's guess, because the rest of the month is complete misery: no grass, no water, and unbearably hot weather. Az, fragile as ever, complains of endless nausea.

DG wants to chisel a little something into Independence Rock, but Cain takes one look at what she's sketching and sends her off to chat up the neighbors instead. She comes back half-drunk and mumbling about how cowboys really deal with a lack of women on the trail. So that's what cowboys are! He's heard of those. One of Jeb's Resistance men is a cowboy. Huh. Some concepts must not travel between worlds very well.

Which doesn't explain why DG thinks they ride oxen. Maybe in her world...?

* * *

DG finally puts two and two together on June 21. "Crap! Az!" She drops her plate of bunny chops on her foot. "Haven't you heard of protection?"

"Danger?" asks Raw, but Glitch claps his hand over his mouth -- the one that isn't tied to his keeper.

"I knew I forgot something," he says.

Cain takes one look at Azkadellia's averted (guilty) gaze and Glitch's raised eyebrows. "I thought somethin' reminded me of Adora," he says. "She had just that cast to her skin in the early weeks."

"Tell me I won't be this sallow for the next seven months," Az begs him, and he laughs.

"Don't worry. Most women start to glow."

"Literally?" It's DG's turn to make a panic face. "I don't know how it works in the O.Z. I hope it isn't that different."

"Calm down, Princess," says Cain. He can't bring himself to call her "Kiddo" anymore. "We should make it home before the birth. Worst-case, we end our vacation a little early."

"I wonder how that would affect the timeline?" Oh, no. Glitch is off in Ambrose-land again. "Your traveling storm would have to swallow our wagon, in order to erase all traces of our presence. I should've looked it up before we left."

"That not the only thing." Raw claps Glitch on the back. "Both happy inside, so happy for both."

And doesn't that just top anything anyone else can say?


	3. III

Ride 'Em  
Thorn Goblinshimmer

III.

At South Pass, Cain starts to feel a little better about his bizarre 'family'. He only has five and a half mouths to feed. Certain parties have more wives than husbands, and plenty of babies to go around.

"Why so many women?" he asks a trio of doctors, who are hitching a ride West to Utah. The crippled doctor whistles.

"If you have to ask..."

"House!"

"Hey, you had three wives."

"One wife. One husband. That's not so extravagant."

The youngest blows some of his shaggy blond hair out of his eyes. "Don't let 'em fool you," he says. "If it were possible, they'd be married. To each other, I mean."

Cain nods. He squabbled like that with Adora all the time. Come to think of it, DG doesn't exactly curb her temper around him.

"Rob!" No less than thirteen women emerge from various wagons, and they're all headed for the boys' drinking rock.

The blond ducks. "Oh, no. My fiancées."

"Come on back with me," Cain offers. "I need someone to look at my sister-in-law." He's no polygamist, and he sure as hell won't be taken for one. Besides, the way things are headed, it'll be true within a year.

* * *

DG corners Cain outside the wagon just before they set off the next morning. "We can barely feed ourselves," she says. "You really think we ought to add three doctors, a midwife, and a runaway Mormon girl to the party?"

"They're bringing their own food," says Cain. "We do have a pregnant lady. Besides, I kind of like 'em." He tugs on DG's ponytail. "And in case you were wondering, little Miss Thirteen is Robbie's cousin. He couldn't very well leave her behind."

"Softie."

She doesn't elbow him this time. He considers it progress.

* * *

A wheel breaks, and this time DG can hammer it into submission. "Won't last us too long," she says. "Better set up a trade, because I think I see another one trying to bust."

"Don't think the Mormons will oblige," says Cain. DG needn't look so astonished. Tin Men have been known to crack jokes from time to time.

The oxen, bless their hearts, are having a tough time with the mountains of leather in the back of the wagon. Az and Glitch pick out the best hides for bedding and send Dr. Wilson out to trade for spare parts.

Raw tries to get the nameless runaway to tell him her name, but she declines. "I kind of like Thirteen, and as for my family, they can all go to -- Utah. Yes." She fingers her silver necklace, lingering on its snake charm.

"You miss no one?"

Thirteen considers this. "Sister Allison, perhaps. She would have become Robbie's first wife if she hadn't been taken off in the night. He had a girl's name; don't remember quite what it was, I'm afraid, but he definitely didn't look like a girl."

"That would be your cousin," House snipes. "Pass the laudanum. I feel a cramp coming on."

* * *

It's July now and Az is miserable, so everyone else is miserable, too. "Glitch! I need water!" she cries between puking spells.

"I need my marbles, but I can't pull them out of my --"

"Ambrose!"

Ooh, the Name. Az doesn't use it unless she's serious. "Better go see what the missus wants," Cain suggests. "Oh, and if you run across some wild fruit, Wilson wants to make us a pie."

DG stays in the wagon, out of the sun, fanning Az with the remains of their old wagon tongue. She's whittled it down to a triangle with a curved base, like a folding fan that won't fold. "I'll find some berries and stain it red," she says. "Carve a few flowers into the middle and behold! Art!"

"It'll be red with blood if you don't shut up and keep fanning," Az moans.

* * *

July 5. At the Green River Crossing, remembering what happened last time, Cain forks over the 5 for their wagon. He's not going to dump a pregnant woman in the river. The rest is negotiable; Dr. Wilson and his bedside manner bring in all kinds of supplies.

House growls and snaps at a little boy begging for food. "Now who rabid?" Raw asks.

Chase sets up a betting pool regarding Azkadellia's due date. DG bets both of her sets of clothing that it'll happen before she loses her virginity. Cain pulls his hat down over his face and does not emerge from beneath its blessed cover for days.

If June was hot, July feels like the depths of hell. For the first time since they joined the party, Wilson removes his tie and rolls up his sleeves. Glitch stops functioning altogether, preferring a spot in the wagon next to his fiancée. Said fiancée doesn't even have the energy for one little slipknot.

Thirteen is having some interesting dreams involving wet celery and an egg beater. Her memory is also getting better, in that she remembers her cousin Amber taking off at the same time as Sister Allison.

"Nothing on the man?" Chase asks. Bless him, he's concerned for the lady. Or ladies?

"Sorry," says Thirteen. "I'd know him if I saw him..."

* * *

The first spare wagon tongue breaks, and DG's glad she insisted on doubling parts. "I can fix this one, but I'll need help," she says. "Go get some."

Fifteen minutes later, Cain's back with a pigtailed woman. "Seems all the smiths on this trail are girls," he says. "This is Mrs. Tam."

"Ni hao." Mrs. Tam sticks out her hand, only to discover there's still a wrench in it. "Oops," she says, stuffing it into one pocket of her overalls. "Call me Kaylee."

Even without superglue, the ladies manage to repair the wagon tongue; if it doesn't hold, well, DG can hire Wilson out again. From the sounds of all that coughing up and down the train, he'll be in demand soon enough. Since it's a quick job, they head on down to the water, Thirteen in tow. Before too long, talk turns to -- what else? -- men.

Thirteen interrupts one of Kaylee's saucier stories. "Is that possible?" she asks. "I'm afraid I don't understand the mechanics of the act. No pun intended."

"How old is this kid?" Kaylee asks DG.

"Older than both of us," DG says. "She's religious, or she was. Sheltered, you know?"

"Ah." Kaylee nods. "Well, if it's a preacher you want, we got one o' those. Personally, I don't think he'll be much help after the ceremony." She winks at Thirteen. "You really never seen anyone..."

"I'd have been flogged!" Thirteen cries.

DG decides not to mention how Azkadellia wound up pregnant.

Three hours later, Thirteen sidles up to Cain. "Psst. Mister. Can I borrow your hat for about a week?"

Cain smirks. "Guess you aren't sunburned, huh?"

* * *

Fort Hall, July 29: everyone's first hot bath in months. DG and Kaylee split theirs ("Be sure to get behind my ears!") and Cain ends up buying all the men wide-brimmed hats. Not to be outdone, of course, Glitch borrows Kaylee's husband for a performance of his own. He reaps his reward that night.

Cain finally meets Kaylee's "big brother", one Captain Malcolm Reynolds, apparently drummed out for sympathizing with the French in some minor revolution. "They had a barricade," says the Captain over coffee and buffalo haggis. "A little kwong-juh duh if you ask me, but they had a cause and they fought for it. Can't rightly fault 'em."

"Kwong...?" He's heard that before, but he can't place it, so he doesn't try. "So, you're coming West for a fresh start."

"You can't take the sky from me!" the Captain proclaims.

Captain Mal, Cain learns, treats his wagon like a ship; its name, Serenity, stands out in bright red against the bleached-white canvas of the cover. Someone has painted little fireflies all around it. "That'd be River," he says. "Simon Tam's little sister. Not quite right, if you know what I mean."

"We've got one of those." Cain sniffs his coffee. Note to self: ask DG exactly what she's using for beans. "Don't suppose they ever give you hell about your pants."

"What, these ol' things?" Mal waggles his eyebrows. "We have a lady of the night and I still get more offers."

Good Gale. They're right out of the Realm of the Unwanted.

* * *

July 14 -- Bastille Day, by Mal's reckoning -- brings with it an epidemic of loose bowels and tight fists.

House hobbles from wagon to wagon, River at his side. "A doctor's a doctor," he grumbles. "'S not my fault Wilson's... indisposed."

"Maybe they will react better to my cherubic face," River says. Kaylee and Inara have decked her out in the prettiest dress they can find, which is about a foot too short; it hits her just below the knee. She can't help being built like a child, but she wishes someone would take in a woman's dress to fit her. Even crazy girls have their dignity.

"Then you can offer them the blackberry root," says House. "They won't take it from me." He hobbled ahead. "Dysentery. It's never dysentery!"

Back at the camp, Az has a clothespin over her nose. "This place smells like death," she says, "and I think I'd know."

Everyone's counting the days until she delivers, and not just because they're excited about the new baby. Zoe Washburne, the battle-hardened veteran, spends all of an hour in the wagon before she makes her excuses.

"My husband nails soldier figurines to the wagon tongue and he still makes more sense than your sister," Zoe tells DG. "I prefer his mislaundered shirts to that woman's sharp tongue."

Inara holds Az's interest slightly longer with a collection of daguerreotypes pulled from her bodice. DG is pointedly not listening to that little question-and-answer session. Nope. She sticks cotton in her ears and gets on with her inspection of the wheels.

Thirteen finds her cousin and "sister" shacked up in Serenity, along with the hairiest man she ever saw. "You married a man called Jayne over our Robbie?" she asks Allison. "And you! Amber! You swore you'd never be anyone's wife, first, second, or fifteenth--"

Amber snorts. "Calm down, baby girl. Mr. Cobb here is our protection. Folks can think what they like."

Allison perks up at the mention of Chase. "Is Robbie around?"

Amber smacks herself in the forehead. "You know what? I'm going to collect buffalo chips." By which, Thirteen suspects, she means she's got some catching up to do with that sweet Dr. Wilson. Well, as long as House and Madam Cuddy don't mind...

Thirteen's treated to a full hour of Allison's lovestruck ramblings about Chase before the hairiest man she ever saw lifts her out of the back of the wagon and ties a bonnet on her head. "Pretty girls like you burn easy," says Jayne. "Can't rightly take you walkin' without one."

The color that blooms on her face has nothing to do with the heat. And though the ribbons on that bonnet clash horribly -- green and orange? -- it's the prettiest one she's ever worn.


	4. IV

Ride 'Em  
Thorn Goblinshimmer

IV.

They have no choice but to move on. It's August and they should at least try to beat the mountain snows.

Nights get damn cold out here. Nevertheless, Glitch is the only one willing to sleep in the O.Z. wagon. DG, River, Madam Cuddy, and Allison Cameron make their bed underneath it, banking on the giant ruts in the grass to keep them from getting crushed.

Cain sleeps sitting up, rifle across his lap, his back to "his" girls.

Serenity is parked just to starboard, with Inara, Amber, Thirteen and Jayne inside. Mal curls up just underneath the wagon's rightmost edge, protecting Zoe, Wash, Kaylee, and Simon. Even in sleep, River reaches out to her brother, and he does the same. What have they seen in their short lives?

With House, Wilson, and Chase guarding the tail end of the wagons, and the oxen stamping their hooves up front, everyone's about as safe as they come.

Ha. Right.

DG creeps out to explore; this is the only alone-time she has, so she might as well make it count. She's heard rumors of abandoned wagons parallel to their path. Sometimes she only finds bodies, but once, she brought back forty-two bullets, two sets of clothing, and a coop full of chickens.

Tonight, she's after wagon wheels. It's no longer a matter of if they'll be needed but when. All the axle grease in the world can't soften the wood enough, and prairie schooners don't come with shock absorbers. She keeps her tools in a knapsack, wrapped in cloth or hide so they don't clink together. She also has a gun. Not a big one. Enough to seriously wound an attacker. She's heard the stories.

Safe and calm, she sets off across the plains. On her way back, she'll pick up buffalo chips; why waste perfectly good wood on a cooking fire? One chip is enough to heat a Dutch oven through. She wades through grass halfway to her waist. Tomorrow, she'll declare a day of rest and bring the oxen out here to eat; what they don't get through, she'll chop down and pile into the back of the wagon. It'll keep Azkadellia warm.

She does worry about her sister. Every day, Az gets rounder and rounder. By the doctors' reckoning, and more importantly, by Madam Cuddy's, she's halfway there. DG hopes she'll wait until Oregon to give birth; it's way too dirty out here, and they won't be able to stop longer than a day.

There it is -- one abandoned wagon. Thank Glinda. As quietly as she can, she sneaks up behind it, opens the flaps, and...

"Bloody hell!"

DG stares up into a very old pair of blue eyes in a very young face. "Oh, jeez," she says. "Sorry, I thought nobody lived here."

"That's no excuse!" The young-old man climbs out, and to DG's eternal shock, he's wearing twentieth-century clothes. "What if I'd been off in the weeds for a piss, then?"

"You're from my time," DG blurts out. "You -- the jeans, and the leather jacket -- and why is your screwdriver blue on the end?"

"I'm not from anyone's time." He toggles something on the screwdriver; the blue light goes out. "They call me the Doctor."

"We have five of those, counting Simon and the midwife," says DG. "What's your specialty?"

"Temporal anomalies." He flashes a piece of paper too fast for her to read it. "What's yours?"

"Oh, um..." DG crosses her fingers and prays. "I'm a princess from another world, and this is my vacation, except it's not a vacation anymore because my sister's knocked up and the father's missing half his brain."

He laughs. "You win. All right. What do you need?"

The Doctor walks DG back, carrying one wagon wheel on each arm and five sets of clothing on his back. DG munches happily on an apple -- and chokes when she sees that Cain is awake.

"Uh, hi?" She tosses him the rest of the apple. "More where that came from. Best thank the gentleman and let him get back to his wagon."

"Thank you," says Cain, setting his rifle down. "I'll take her from here."

"Oh, she's been no trouble," says the Doctor. "She wasn't trying to kill me. She just... needed help."

Cain looks him right in the eyes. "Thank you," he says again. "Will you excuse us?" He drags DG away from the wagons by her shirt collar before the Doctor can get a word in edgewise.

What else can she do? She salutes the Doctor and lets Cain do his caveman thing.

* * *

He throws her down in the grass. "Don't say a word."

Her eyes go even rounder when he takes off his coat and vest. There goes her stake in the betting pool -- oh, wait. The pants are staying on. Just as well; she'd be hard-pressed to peel 'em off at this point.

"What are you --"

"Didn't I tell you to shut up?" He crouches before her, one arm on either side of her body. She feels the delicious heat more than any fear, which, come to think of it, might be her problem.

"I never obey orders," she says.

"You might wanna start, Princess."

She gulps. "Gonna make me?"

Instead of kissing the daylights out of her, he backs away. Damn. "Did you know you're our only way home?"

DG gets to her feet, brushing off her backside. "I kind of figured, yeah, at least until Az gives birth to the newest Gale heir."

"Then why don't you take better care of yourself?" Cain lifts his hat long enough to run his fingers through his hair. "Dammit, DG, this isn't a joke! We could die out here, and your parents wouldn't know. You really wanna find out how quick Zero and his Longcoats would take over? Go right ahead, but send me home first so I can get my family and yours to safety."

"Fine, then! Go home!" DG twirls her finger in the air; a tiny cyclone kicks up behind her. "Take Az with you. She and Glitch can get married, she'll have the baby in a safe place, and you'll all live happily ever after."

"I'm tempted." Cain lets out his breath all at once. "Part of me wants to get out while we still can -- while you're still in good enough shape to conjure up a storm."

DG snaps her fingers, and the storm disappears. "And the other part?"

He goes limp, hunching in on himself. "The other part knows it wouldn't be happily ever after for all of us."

She swishes up to him, pushing aside the grass. "Hey, now." She rubs his back in little circles, aiming for maternal (for once). "I know you haven't had long to heal after the war. I get it. I'm still trying to figure out who I am without a crown, never mind with one. I guess that's why I wanted to come here. I played one too many video games when I was little. Maybe I should've paid more attention in history class."

"This is a game?"

"It's called 'Oregon Trail', and really, the old version doesn't exist anymore. Now you need a six hundred megaram processor and forty hexagigs of memory or something like that."

"When we get home, I'll buy you the damn game. Then you can play it from the comfort of your rooms while Az chases Glitch around the palace with her riding crop."

"Ew!" DG wrinkles her nose. "You did not just put that image in my head. Crap, Mr. Cain, aren't you supposed to keep me safe?"

"Out here, all bets are off."

She giggles, thinking of Chase's pool. "C'mon, Tin Man, let's go back to the wagon. Tomorrow's a big day, what with fixing the wagon and baking apple pie. 'Nara even promised to make River a long dress."

Arm in arm, they slog across the plains, mindful of the Blue Mountains in the distance. The trip's not over yet, not by a long shot.

* * *

DG and Zoe take the cattle out to pasture the next morning, DG riding point on Daisy. Zoe's got a scythe over her shoulder; in her long coat, with the sun behind her, she looks a lot like Death. Many a man has met his maker at the wrong end of her gun.

River watches this from atop Serenity. She closes her eyes, getting her bearings. Jayne's helping Inara and Amber unload a few of Inara's trunks. His big old boots kick some of Wash's new-carved toys off the tongue. She will paint the dragons blue, green, gold, and purple, the colors of royalty. Something to remind the princesses of home, mayhaps. Kaylee can't be more excited, and Thirteen has no idea what to make of all this. She thought she'd be in Utah by now, married to someone she's always seen as a brother -- and if that's the better option, River almost doesn't want to know what might've been.

Only almost.

Raw nods when he feels the touch of River's mind. The grumpy doctor might think he's a Reader, but he's just a good guesser. The lion-man has him licked seven ways to Sunday. Raw's an honorable man, if a mite furry. Man of peace; man of fierce love. Azkadellia is safe under his eyes, under the tree with her feng-le bao-bei. Speaking of which, should he be anywhere near Wash? Even moonbrains figure that for a dangerous combination.

Captain's showing Mr. Cain and Madam Cuddy the intricacies of a real Chinese tea service. Aiming for a deal of some kind, she'd say. Fair enough; wood from two wagons will make a saloon with room for Inara's business and a small medical practice.

Three pairs: two princesses, one pretty Mormon girl, one sheriff, half a brain, and maybe a doctor. Preacher Book ought to polish up his Bible.


	5. V

Ride 'Em  
Thorn Goblinshimmer

V.

Someone up-train found a few musicians, so there's going to be a dance in the main circle tonight. Kaylee is a little upset by the short notice. "I'm covered in grease!" she wails, scraping at the sticky patches on her skin with a rough cloth.

"Simon won't care," says DG. She can't see the fuss, either, because Kaylee on her worst day still has a certain charm, a joie-de-vivre unmatched even by Wash. "Anyway, you have a dress."

"I do, don't I?" Kaylee sighs, thinking of the confection hanging from Serenity's rearmost bow. It's pink, with a dozen ruffles on its skirt and enormous off-the-shoulder sleeves. In order to fill it out, she'll need to wear fifteen pounds of petticoats. "What about you and your sister?"

"Az and Glitch have graciously volunteered to mind the wagon," says DG. "I think they want to be alone, so I'm stuck going to this shindig. I might borrow something of Zoe's; we're about the same size..."

"What, a vest?" Kaylee tosses her cloth aside. "No way. 'Nara's doin' up a dress for River; won't be much trouble to poke through her things an' find one for you."

"Haven't you forgotten something?" asks DG. "Look at my waist for a minute."

Kaylee looks, and after a minute, prods DG's torso. "Oh," she says. "Oh, no. You ain't fat at all -- you just don't own a corset."

"And have never worn one in my life." DG gives the wheel one last, firm whack. So she isn't pinched in two at her middle. Big deal. "Unless Inara has a burlap sack in one of her trunks, I'm going in drag."

* * *

Nope.

DG is on her way home from washing dishes when Kaylee and River grab her by the elbows and haul her behind Serenity. "Help!" she shrieks, but the men have all gone selectively deaf, even Mister Blessed-Protector-Syndrome himself. "Dammit, Cain, you're supposed to be guarding me -- mmph!"

Perfumed silk tastes terrible. There's no escaping it; Azkadellia has tied the scarf behind DG's head, and DG knows better than to test her sister's skills.

Inara whips a piece of satin cord around DG's bust, waist, and hips, marking each measurement with a knot. "Not bad," she says. "We won't need much in the way of a corset." Before DG can squeak out a protest, she adds, "That's a compliment. Men prefer a naturally small waist."

Not where I come from, DG thinks.

River, nearby, smiles. "I know, but out here, they do." She kneels behind DG. "Princess values mobility over fashion. Be kind."

"We could put her in Grandma's wedding gown," says Kaylee, taking her own mental measurements. "They're of a height, and the gown is loose around the legs. Give her an extra petticoat for decency, that's all."

Inara and Kaylee begin framing out the alterations in gestures. "Yes, take in the hem," murmurs Inara. "I can lace my shortest corset very loosely, more of a brace than a stay. Incredible!"

"Cannot believe you didn't think of it earlier," says River. "Your English client liked loose dresses." She smiles. "Wanted to make me Ophelia, but Captain said no. Face is too remarkable." Lifting a lock of DG's hair, she twists it around a few of her fingers. "I will return. Need a comb and some flowers. No worries; the cranky doctor wishes to inspect the local flora for medicinal properties. He will keep me safe."

DG remembers then that she's not the only woman in need of a gown. Thirteen left her family with the clothes on her back.

River's big brown eyes meet DG's in perfect understanding. "Lucky unlucky number will be fine. You worry over yourself." She cocks her head sideways. "I will worry over us."

Just before the women engulf DG in fabric, she sees River run off -- long, graceful legs, delicate dancing feet. The flutter of silk on a prairie breeze.

...I am a leaf on the wind...

* * *

River climbs the shade-tree. Not to see the train. It's the mountains.

Everyone knows there's dangers in the Blues. Natives, for one; pioneers are meddlesome. They want to live as they always have. She can't blame them for defending what's theirs. They're civilized as they are. Why do greenhorns think they know best?

She is not afraid of the First People. They are like her and the lion-man, instinct-driven, highly intuitive. They know the land, a land River has come to love herself.

What she fears, instead, are the snows and the creatures they create.

Everyone knows there was a party lost last winter, and what it did in order to survive. Lie down and wait for death or turn monster in order to stay alive -- alive but never again living. How does cornmeal taste after heart, liver, and thigh?

Those lost sheep came back to the flock. Others donned the skins of wolves.

There are wolves high up in the Blues.

* * *

Dusk drops fast, but Inara and Thirteen stitch faster. What was once a pile of printed white muslin now has a beautiful bell skirt, a daring off-the-shoulder neckline, and a pair of frills for sleeves. This will go to Thirteen herself; River is not a crinoline kind of girl, and Allison has refused to wear anything but the plain garb she came in. Inara has turned one of her Chinese robes into an ideal gown for the little human Viewer. Its deep jade tones suit River's dramatic coloring.

DG, they agree, is a masterpiece.

"Jab me with one more pin!" She taunts them, holding her arms out for the fiftieth time. In truth, she doesn't mind the weight of this dress -- what weight? It's gauze decorated with silver thread. The sleeves were once very puffy, but Inara has sewn them back to the point where DG's going to have to borrow Cain's razor.

The neck hides a multitude of sins and a pair of, shall we say, virtues. What she wouldn't give to sin a little in the cleavage department -- alas, Azkadellia got all the boobage in the family.

"So, uh, I'm supposed to dance in this?" she asks. "I really don't know how. Maybe I should just sit somewhere and twiddle my thumbs -- or not." For someone trained in the art of pleasant interactions, Inara sure can look cranky. "Dancing. Right."

"I'll lend you Wilson for a spin," says Amber, currently submitting to Kaylee's skilled hands. Who knew mechanics did hair? "I'm sure all the doctors will want a dance, once they see your pretty dress."

"Doctors can try, but they won't get anywhere," says River. "Best shot wins."

"They're out there doing something stupid, aren't they," says Allison. "Not my man, nor Azkadellia's, and I think Wash has more sense -- maybe -- but the others?"

Kaylee groans. "Simon better not come back with holes in him."

River floats around the tiny encampment, choosing between Inara's scarves. "House plays dirty. Pain for him means pain for others." Then, slightly unfocused: "Watch the cane. -- Can I borrow the peacock shawl?"

Inara snaps off a piece of thread. "Of course, mei-mei. Bring it back in one piece."

"We're only going dancing." River unfurls the marigold creation, with its blue-green-violet embroidery. "No-one's shot. Just badly bruised."

As she ventures out into the dying prairie light, the women remember what she has completely forgotten.

"River! What about shoes?"

But she is gone, hidden in the grasses, her mind closed to all voices but two.


	6. VI

Ride 'Em  
Thorn Goblinshimmer

VI.

The nice man with the blue-tipped screwdriver left the party a horse, of all things -- a token of his appreciation, he said -- so River will arrive at the dance in style. "If'n you ain't wearin' shoes, you're ridin' an' that's that," Mal insists. Though she can hear the gelding's thoughts just fine, Mal won't let go of the reins. DG supposes he's scared of the kind of mischief those two could get up to.

Inara isn't. "He's a little overprotective," she says, adjusting her jet-beaded mesh wrap. "Silly, really. She could take any of the men in a fight." Somehow, in the middle of the goddamn Old West, she managed to find nail polish the very color of the sunset, the same shade as her gown. When was nail polish invented, anyway?

Jealousy's as old as time. Inara doesn't hold the patent on that one.

"Why didn't River stop House, then?" DG asks. "I'm no doctor, but I don't think the Captain will be sitting comfortably for another day or so, and Simon's nose looks kind of funny like that."

"She was having too much fun seeing how far she could throw Chase." Inara purses her lips. "One of these days, she'll have to grow up. We all love her, don't get me wrong, but she can be a pain in the pi-gu. Worse, the men think it's cute, so they encourage her."

"Maybe Oregon's where she needs to be," DG suggests. "I can't see her in a fancy parlor, sipping tea with her knitting circle."

Oooh, hit a nerve there. DG doesn't have to be a Viewer to know Inara misses the East. The slump of her shoulders says it as plain as the lettering on their wagon -- but only for a moment, then the mask slips back into place like it never fell.

So Cain isn't the only one with regrets. Why does that thought sting? Are moods catching?

"Gorrammit, li'l albatross! Get down!"

How can DG stay sad when River's doing tricks on horseback?

* * *

The party can't very well enter the circle en masse, so the men each escort a lady, except for House, who hobbles in supported by Cuddy and Wilson. Raw seems to understand about Inara, because he glues himself to her side, but as soon as they walk in, she's twirled away by a dandy called Taub.

Chase, it turns out, has been thoroughly whupped, so Amber and Allison have stayed behind to tend him. Cain corners Jayne, who seems to know the most about that odd little situation, and Jayne obligingly coughs up the gossip over a pint of beer.

"Doc House an' Doc Wilson love each other," says Jayne. "I don't care, so you better not either. They're with Lisa Cuddy, who loves 'em both an' the feelin's mutual." He draws a triangle in the dirt with a long branch, then a line coming off it. "Wilson fell in love with Amber a long while back. The other two approved, but the Prophet didn't, so Amber lit off rather than make Wilson watch her get hitched to someone else." Another line, with two hash marks along it and an X at the end. "Amber an' Doc Chase always got along, but there was Allie Cameron in the way. Don't know as she's in the way anymore, but she'll never be fine with the thought of sharin' her man."

Cain scratches his head. "So why would Allison leave with Amber?"

"Another bad engagement," says Jayne. "Allison wouldn't marry anyone but Chase, and Chase already had a few lined up to marry him."

DG sways over. "Cain! Listen to this music!"

Cain listens. "It's about a guy who can't marry his girl because he's too poor."

"Isn't it romantic?" She sighs. "Doesn't matter, really, because I can't dance." She gives Jayne a happy little wave. "How's Miss Thirteen?"

"Sh-right!" Jayne runs his fingers through his short, scruffy hair. "Am I presentable?"

"Go get 'er," says Cain. "Come on, Princess. Let's go sit down somewhere." He leads her over to a bench, where she sits and, inexplicably, pouts. Maybe she feels left out. "If it helps, I've got two left feet myself."

"If I really, desperately wanted to prove my lack of coordination, I'd cut in on Inara," says DG. "It's stupid."

"Cutting in on Inara would be stupid, yes," says Cain. "I think she'd scratch out the eyes of any girl who so much as looked at Mr. Taub."

"It's too soon to tell, but I think they could be good together," says DG. "They've both got rich tastes, that's for sure."

"She'd look great on his arm, in Oregon or in Boston." Cain removes his hat, placing it on the empty third of their bench. "So now that we've established you aren't jealous of Inara, what's really wrong?"

DG sticks out her tongue. "I feel pretty."

Cain can't really disagree on that count. This is the first time he's ever seen her look like a princess. In fact, he ought to tell her that. "This is the first time I've ever seen you look like a princess."

"Thank you," she says, pinking up a little. "You're not so shabby yourself."

And he isn't, tonight, in his best vest and a clean white shirt. "Even I try sometimes," he says. Not that he had a girl to impress or anything.

"Yeah. So, I finally feel pretty and..." DG waves her arms. "Everyone else is prettier."

Cain considers his answer very carefully. "Seems to me there's all kinds of pretty here tonight," he says. "Inara looks like a real lady, and that means she's too rich a dish for most everyone here, except maybe Mr. Taub. Kaylee's much more their kind of girl, but she's married."

"Poor guys," says DG. "Zoe's more stunning than pretty."

"She'd flatten 'em soon as they got near, and they know it."

"And River?"

"She's more of a handful than you."

They watch Mal twirl his crazy little prize past; she stands on his feet. She twitches now and then. The look in her eyes is almost bestial, and not from lust.

"She's worried," DG says, very quietly. "And if she's worried, so am I."

"Should I look for the others?" asks Cain. "We can leave early without looking rude. You have a sister in a delicate condition. Say we got word from our camp, huh?"

You can take the man out of the tin suit, but you just can't take the tin out of the man. "I'm sure it's nothing," DG says, though a frisson of cold steel sneaks up her back. "Come on, Mister. Let's go dance."

* * *

The first one slides its claws through delicate skin, yanking a settler's spine halfway from his body before the man has a chance to scream. Two more latch onto the man's neck and navel, gnawing through gristle and fat. When the last of his lifeblood runs down their throats, they howl their disappointment to the skies.

River swings her gaze around to DG. Both have stopped cold.

"The wolves are here," River whispers. Somehow, DG hears her from all the way across the crowd.


	7. VII

This one's a little short, but I wanted to get something out there while I had the inspiration. All hail Neal McDonough in those pants. Mmm.

VII.

"Down, Princess!" Cain pushes DG behind a wagon; the smell of leather and sweat only just covers the tang of blood suddenly filling the air. She strains against him. Hers or not, those are people dying above, behind, everywhere she casts her senses, really.

"Let me up," she pleads. She turns onto her back and pushes with all fours, but she won't budge him -- unless --

There.

A seed of magic grows into a bolt of lightning. To his credit, though he flinches at its touch, Cain does not say a damn word.

More. More.

The bolt grows into a whirlwind, and then a few whirlwinds; they freeze Cain and lift him away, like he's made of marble.

Then she stands. Then she knows exactly what to do.

* * *

Mal notices the storm just in time. "Everybody down!" he orders. "River, that means you!"

"But I'm having fun," says River, taking out another three wolves with someone's steak knife. The steak she leaves on the plate; maybe Kaylee will grab it for supper? Even if it is venison, fresh meat would be awfully nice about now.

The bodies fall away. River wipes the knife on what was once a blue cotton shirt.

"River..." Mal looks ready to take her down. Since he knows very well how dangerous that is, he must have a good reason, so she aims the knife for the heart of another wolf, throws it, and tumbles towards her Captain.

Just in time, too; a moment later, bodies, steak, and dirt spiral up into a monster of a tornado. Little twisters sprout and swallow more wolves before joining the big storm. Bands of light stream from between two wagons. DG is doing what she was born to do.

"Two little princesses dancing in a row," River sings as she fights. "Spinning fast and freely on their little toes." More necks to crack. More backs to break. "Where the light will take them, there's only one way to know."

And the answering chant, in an unearthly voice: "Two little princesses dancing in a row." DG raises her arms, and the storm lifts clear into the sky. "Spinning fast and freely -- nngh! -- on their little toes." Higher and higher now, flying out of view. "Where the light will take them --"

The light goes out. Only DG remains, and she falls to the ground. Whatever was inside her is spent.

Just for now, River thinks. She'll be fine. They all will, because the wolves have been killed, at least the wolves on this stretch of trail. No more stand within reach of her mind or her hands. Some kneel, forever staring at their innards pouring out. Some lie face-down in floods of red. Heads here, arms there, legs everywhere.

Mr. Cain holds his princess close, not because she was ever in danger but because she was the danger and can't face that yet. Light burst from her palms, spilling out of her eyes, and River saw her tremble in an effort to contain it. DG would not permit death to escape her grip.

River understands. Once upon a time, she couldn't contain the light. Someone spoke the words and she went crazy, spinning, kicking, cutting, shooting, until the whole saloon was dead or dying. Then her brother's magic spell. Finally, she fell.

She has discovered how to say the spell inside herself. Now she can stop when she needs to. DG has never needed to start. Perhaps River should show her how it works.

"Albatross," says the Captain, and she turns to him.

"All present and accounted for." River points to the princess. "She helped. Is still learning control. Most admirable effort."

"Place looks like a twister hit." Mal slides his arm over her shoulders. "Knew you was a handful, but you never did so much damage in one night before." Before she can protest, he adds, "No, not even in Paris. You left the barricade standin'."

Pouting, she confesses: "It was the princess. Don't let her twirl her hair ever again." Or point her fingers. Some of those wolves look awfully crispy. "Have you seen Inara's shawl? I dropped it in the fighting."

Mal hands her a wad of marigold silk. "We'll launder it, an' if we can't, surely we can come up with something even prettier between us."

"What about her?" River points to DG. "She needs laundering, too."

"Then you best go tidy her up," says Mal. "Don't come back 'til she's shiny again. That's an order."


End file.
